


Never a Man

by khunumu



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Semi-Crack, johnny guitar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29938623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khunumu/pseuds/khunumu
Summary: Play the guitar, play it again.
Kudos: 1





	Never a Man

**Author's Note:**

> Piece I wrote back in 2017 that I still sort of like

The first time Cassandra had ever heard “Johnny Guitar” by Peggy Lee was in 2274. She was still Ranger Moore back then, before some dumbfuck Brotherhood of Steel soldier shot her and ruined that.

Camp Golf was quiet on most days, or at least inside the resort. Sometimes, however, someone left the radio in the main room blaring music from whatever shitty radio station they could pick up in the ass end of the American southwest known as the Mojave Desert. Usually, that consisted of some ranger station that had a few music holotapes, or whatever the Mojave Outpost played when someone managed to fix the radios over there. Then one day, someone, maybe that House asshole, set up a new radio station, called Radio New Vegas.

Soldiers listened to it all the time; you couldn't go to any camp in the Mojave without hearing the AI disc jockey mulling on about being mad about the boy. It was fine, at first, and even though he only played a few songs, Cassandra didn't have a problem with it. Even she cranked up the volume whenever “Big Iron” came on.

One year, 2278, Mr. New Vegas decided to allow people to put in requests for their favorite song. He played all sorts of tracks; “I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire” by the Ink Spots was a favorite. He also seemed to play lots of Benny Goodman, which Cassandra later tracked down to be the work of some 1st Recon soldier, maybe Gorobets.

However, there was one song that someone was constantly requesting to be played. “Johnny Guitar”. Mr. New Vegas seemed to put it on at least five times in three hours, and at its peak, Cassandra was hearing it twice every half hour. She figured it had to be the work of some stupid soldiers (a common thing in the Mojave) pulling a prank. The frequent requests for the Pre-War song is what seemed to be the cause of Mr. New Vegas no longer taking suggestions. Not that anyone complained.

It appeared that the onslaught of Guitar left its mark of the poor host; his algorithms were so screwed up that it still played rather frequently. Cassandra couldn't take it, and in 2280, she switched to a classical radio recently being broadcasted from California.

Among soldiers, it became well known how much the colonel absolutely despised the tragic love song. Some joked about it being on par with her hatred for the Brotherhood; others insisted that “Johnny Guitar” wished she only hated it as much as the men and women in steel. Whenever she was around, and the tune was playing, people made sure to turn the radio down, or just turn it off, lest they face the wrath of the former ranger. Some recruits felt ballsy occasionally, and instead turned it up. They were always found doing dozens of pushups and had latrine duty for the next month or two.

Cassandra prided herself on being able to avoid the song that occasionally tormented her dreams. Soldiers didn't like to question it, some of the older ones even holding a similar but nowhere near as strong distaste for the song. However, she found herself being teased by her equals and superiors. A lot.

One day, in late 2281, she was reclining in Hoover Dam’s main office, feet on the coffee table and reports in her hands. The only music was the smooth jazz that came from a mysterious station that had appeared a couple weeks ago. Listening to it made her feel strange at first, but it was nothing compared to the hatred that formed whenever “Johnny Guitar” played.

She was waiting for a report from the Courier, who she'd sent off to deal with the Great Khans, hopefully by just finally wiping out the fuckers. Her peaceful solitude was broken by a familiar jingle in the distance. Perhaps it was from the rec room. She was about to get up to tell them to turn it the fuck down when the very man she was waiting for sauntered in the office, dressed like a soldier. On his wrist hung a Pip-Boy 3000, which she had originally paid no heed. Now, it was blasting the very song that she still had nightmares about. The goddamn source.

She didn't even get a word out before he saluted and said something about the Great Khans no longer being a problem, which he didn't elaborate on. Cassandra heard him, of course, but she was still focused on the god awful song coming from the machine on his wrist. Her fists balled up her pants, and the Courier seemed to notice her tension.

“Is there anything else you need me to do, ma’am?”

Her eyes slowly turned to him, and she pursed her lips. “The Omertas are suspected of being involved in shady or illegal business. Go talk to Liza O’Malley in the Embassy about it. Dismissed.”

“But I have qu-”

“Dismissed,” she hissed out between clenched teeth. The Courier seemed really put off by it, so he saluted and turned to leave, taking that fucking song with him, echoing off the metal walls before eventually disappearing behind a door.

Cassandra needed to breath. She stood and stepped outside the office, slamming her fist on the wall. It hurt, but it wasn't anything she hadn't felt before. Turning to the soldier guarding the door, who was probably used to this by now, she stuck out her hands and make a motion like grabbing a neck.

“The next person I find responsible for forcing me to hear that song, I'm going to kill.”

Right after she said that, the fake-melancholic voice of a very loud, very familiar general came down the hall towards her, and was only growing closer.

“Theeeeeere was never a maaaaaaaan like my Jooooooohnny!”

The door guard turned to her, hesitent amusement written on his face.

“I anticipate seeing that, ma’am.”


End file.
